


[Not] Wanted: A Boyfriend For Mycroft Holmes

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Jealous Sherlock, Lonely Mycroft, M/M, Matchmaking, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mycroft Feels, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Self-Conscious Mycroft, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-20 13:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17623004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Sherlock knows it's a mad idea - finding a boyfriend for his lonely brother, who is avoiding him after Sherrinford. In the end he does find him…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译/麦夏】[Not] Wanted: A Boyfriend For Mycroft Holmes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17727458) by [Shadow_Yanice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Yanice/pseuds/Shadow_Yanice)



“He's lonely.”

Sherlock looked up from his phone, surprised about the hint of compassion in John's voice. Compassion for Mycroft of all people! “He always says he isn't.” Mycroft had just responded to his text. With four indifferent words and a greeting…

John snorted. “Yeah. Big bad Icemen can't admit they are lonely! That they, God forbid, need a… how does he call us mortals again?”

“Goldfish,” Sherlock said with a grin. But then he nodded, his face serious again. He knew John was right. His brother _was_ lonely. Had always been…

Everything was back to normal after Sherrinford. John and Rosie had moved into rebuilt 221B Baker Street. John worked in the hospital and from time to time, he solved cases with Sherlock and then Mrs Hudson took care of the girl. Or John brought her to Molly, if she wasn't working. Sherlock and Molly had spoken about this unfortunate 'I love you' incident and Molly even seemed to be relieved that she had told Sherlock she loved him, knowing he cherished her as a friend but nothing more. Sherlock visited his sister twice a week, and they played the violin together. She didn’t talk but he knew she enjoyed spending time with him. His parents had forgiven Mycroft. Sherlock forgot Lestrade's first name again and they laughed about it together. Everything was like it should be.

But something was wrong. Mycroft. He didn’t show up anymore with cases. When Sherlock texted him, he answered with an indifferently friendly sentence. All those years he had been the one to reach out to Sherlock and to try to have a better relationship with him. Sherlock had thanked him for his efforts by being nasty and condescending to him. In the end he had taken care of Mycroft's boring cases but it had always been John who had reported to him.

And now Sherlock wanted to be closer to his brother after that nasty day. Mycroft had thoroughly impressed him with his decency and selflessness. Sherlock had finally understood that his brother wasn't the antichrist he had chosen to see in him. Mycroft was a good man. Despite all his flaws – like sticking his nose into Sherlock's business, telling him off all the time, trying to make him a better man! – he was even a _likable_ man!

But now Mycroft seemed to avoid him; he had politely excused himself when Sherlock had invited him to the housewarming Mrs Hudson had insisted on doing. In fact he hadn't seen his brother at all since he had come to Sherrinford with their parents this one time.

“If he's lonely, why doesn't he come here anymore?” he asked John.

The doctor shrugged. “He feels guilty if you ask me. He did text me a few times…”

“He did what?!” Why the hell did his damn brother text his flatmate and not him?

“Just wanted to ask if you're fine. Even asked about Rosie, can you imagine? But he definitely wanted to make sure that you're okay and that, you know, Eurus doesn’t have some evil spell upon you.”

“What?! I bet he gets every video feed of us when I'm there. We just play the violin together. What does he think – that she gives me orders to kill him through the music?”

“You know, having met your sister, that wouldn’t surprise me in the least…”

“Well… All right. But she doesn't. She seems happy to see me but she's pretty much locked herself up. Anyway… Mycroft! Why didn’t you tell me that you're in contact with him?!”

“Guess why!”

“Oh. He told you to not tell me. Just like in the beginning when he offered you money to spy on me…”

“Exactly like this. But he doesn’t pay me, sadly enough. So I thought I can as well tell you.” John grinned. Then he pointed at Sherlock. “We must do something about it!”

“Huh? What?”

“I don't know! Find him a boyfriend.”

“Are you mad?!”

John glared at him. “Why not? I know he's gay; he doesn’t exactly hide it. Runs in the family I suppose…”

Sherlock blushed. They had never addressed his sexual orientation - if one could even call it that as he'd never had sex with anybody and certainly never would - after their first day as friends. “Yes, he is, and he had some… crushes when he was a teenager but… He doesn’t do such things anymore.” The thought of Mycroft having sex with anyone was highly disturbing…

“He should though! Perhaps it would make him happier!”

“I don't do it either and I'm very happy!”

“Oh right! That's indeed a great example!”

They glowered at one another and that was how Mrs Hudson found them when she entered their flat with a tray. “Boys! Are you having a domestic again?”

John groaned and Sherlock grinned. She really didn’t give up! Even though the proof for John's heterosexuality was having a nap in her new chamber right now and her toys were lying around everywhere on the carpet.

“He wants us to find a boyfriend for my brother,” he said, glad to not having to talk about his own situation any longer and sure she would just look sour and ask whoever wanted Sherlock's ghastly brother as his lover.

“Oh! That's a great idea!” The old lady beamed at them.

“Is it?” both Baker Street Boys asked.

“Yes! We will put an ad somewhere, and Sherlock, you can interview the candidates! You will see at once if they're someone your brother could like!”

“My brother doesn’t like _anybody_! That's his problem!”

She smirked. “I'm sure there is someone he could fall for.” She provided everybody with tea and put a bowl of biscuits onto the table before she sat down. “So – how does he have to be?”

“Very smart,” John prompted.

“A saint,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Good-looking of course,” was the doctor's next suggestion.

“Every bit as arrogant as he is…” Sherlock couldn’t refrain from adding.

“Make notes!” Mrs Hudson demanded and John took a bill and a pen. “And be serious about it, Sherlock! Let's find a wonderful partner for your weird big brother!”

“Amen,” Sherlock said dryly and shook his head when the other two giggled. Crazy people all around him…

Mycroft would kill him if he found out… Well, at least then he would show up again…

## °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

They had foregone listing their requirements for how Mycroft's potential boyfriend had to be and rather described the man himself. Of course Sherlock had the list for the interviews but the ad read like this:

_Male partner wanted for very intelligent, well-educated, good-looking, sophisticated man in his mid-forties with a demanding profession and little spare time, with exquisite taste and a preference for fine food and elegant clothes. Interested parties, who should match his personality and proclivities, will be speaking to his brother first._

Sherlock wouldn’t have thought anybody would even dare answer to such an ad. Who should live up to such expectations? Who could even consider being good enough for such a _Mr Perfect_? Who would want to be interrogated by this man's _brother_ above all?

Surprisingly enough, they were overrun by answers and Sherlock had to bother and waste his time with _people_ …

He didn’t give his identity away and he didn’t let the men come to Baker Street. A former and very grateful client had offered them to use his second and uninhabited luxurious flat whenever they wanted, and Sherlock asked him to give him access during two hours every day for a week. He stored some casual clothes, glasses, a hair piece and a false beard there. He didn’t want to be recognised after all.

After his first interview-session, he came home and John and Mrs Hudson were awaiting him in excitement.

“How did it go?” Mrs Hudson asked and she seemed to vibrate with curiosity.

“Yes, do we have a winner for your brother's heart?” John added with just a bit of sarcasm.

Sherlock grimaced and let himself fall into his armchair. “It was awful! One idiot after the other! What are they thinking! Our text was so clear!”

He recalled his conversations with the men, aged from twenty-five to five-one, all rather attractive – if one preferred the ordinary looks…

_“I'm a professor at…” – “Boring!”_

_“I worked for the CIA and now I'm a lecturer for…” – “Sorry, not what we're looking for!”_

_“I made a lot of money at the exchange and now have a house in the countryside where I grow prizewinning roses and…” “Get out!”_

_“My hobbies are the piano and I have a huge wine collection…” “Oh, just_ leave _!”_

He shuddered theatrically. “Not one would have been even worth shaking my brother's hand.”

John chuckled. “Let alone his…”

“John!”

Mrs Hudson giggled and patted Sherlock's arm. “Ah, I'm sure tomorrow it will work better! Perhaps one of us should come with you and…”

“No!” Sherlock refused steadfastly. “I know my brother best!”

“Do you now?” Mrs Hudson said, watching him with a thoughtful expression.

“Of course I do!” Sherlock exploded. “I grew up with him! He taught me everything! I could read when I was two, solve complicated mathematical equations with four, play the violin perfectly with five, all because he taught me. And of course he taught me how to deduce people and I'm telling you, none of these guys were good enough for my brother.”

“I wonder who _could_ be,” Mrs Hudson mused.

“Yes. It's really difficult,” John agreed, and the old lady side-eyed him, but she didn’t say anything to it.

“Let's have tea, shall we?” she suggested, and both men heartily agreed.

*****

The next day Sherlock came home even grumpier. And he barked at John and Mrs Hudson when they wanted to hear about his time in the secret flat.

“They were horrible!” he said. “I can't endure it anymore! We should not accept any more candidates! The experiment failed! Mycroft will have to stay alone!”

“Oh, poor baby!” Mrs Hudson crooned and provided him with strong tea.

Sherlock nodded darkly. “Horrible,” he repeated, muttering to himself.

_“I work as a model and run an organisation for war veterans and I donate for animal welfare and…” – “Will you find the exit alone?”_

_“I did my doctorate in physics and mathematics and I love to travel and…” “Don't forget your coat when you leave!”_

_“I love complicated puzzles and by next month I will be a full member of the Diogenes…” “Out with you!”_

_“I have two bursaries for Oxford and last month I appeared as 'Hamlet' in…” “No, thank you. This way!”- “Hey, wait – if you think I'm not the right one for your brother, what about_ you _then? You're hot!” – “Go at once or I'll make you!!!”_

“We won't give up so fast, will we?” Mrs Hudson said.” Just one more day, hm?”

“If you insist…” Sherlock mumbled reluctantly.

Damn…

They had all been so… perfect for Mycroft! One after the other interesting, attractive men with responsible occupations and sophisticated hobbies! None of them was as smart as Mycroft but… nobody was! Except for Eurus… And Sherlock himself… But each and every one of those men would have been a match for Mycroft, at least for a while. He could have gone out and have a nice conversation with any of them and perhaps he would have really fallen in love with them.

And Sherlock just… couldn’t… let that happen… He didn’t know why but… it was just not right! It was totally wrong, in fact! He gulped down his much-too-hot tea and even welcomed the burn in his throat.

“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs Hudson asked, concerned.

“I'm fine!” Sherlock growled.

“Would you like a biscuit?”

Sherlock just grumbled something and caught a worried look from the doctor.

“Damn, these men seemed to have disturbed you for real!”

Sherlock shot a glare at him and then he put the entire biscuit into his mouth so he didn’t have to answer as he didn’t know what to say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has not missed that something is going on. But... what? Only one way to find out!

What was his brother up to?! Mycroft was sitting at his desk, looking at the video feed of a certain house in a posh quarter. Men were coming and going. Just like the last two days. They went in with a smile and came out, muttering darkly to themselves, with hanging shoulders, some of them crying, some of them fuming.

And his brother was in there all the time! Two hours on each of these days!

He had been informed when Sherlock had left his usual paths and gone into this house, alone, without the faithful Doctor Watson. The camera was a normal CCTV camera that had been there for ages.

Mycroft had brooded over this feed for hours after Sherlock had left the house again on the two previous days. At first his heart had almost stopped when the first man had entered half an hour after his brother. A very good-looking man in an expensive suit.

Did Sherlock… have a date with this man?

But then he had come out so fast again, dark clouds on his face, and Mycroft had dismissed this thought. Until the next one had appeared fifteen minutes later. Who had left the building with the same expression.

The next thought had been even worse: was Sherlock… doing something illegal with these men? Did he buy drugs? Or even… _sell_ drugs? But he hadn't carried anything and they hadn't, either.

His third suspicion had been really crazy: was Sherlock selling _himself_?! Physically…? But no. They left much too quickly again… And who would look so pissed off if he'd just… got off… with his little brother… and Sherlock couldn’t… _serve_ all these men in such a short period of time!

There! Another one was going in! And he still didn’t have any idea what was going on in there! He knew which flat it was as Sherlock had appeared at the window and he knew who owned it. A former client. But why did Sherlock use this flat?! Certainly these men were no clients who required his detective services. That wouldn’t make any sense and they didn’t look as if they had a problem when they went into the house. They did when they _left_ it…

He could have told someone to put a bug into the flat after Sherlock had left. But… He didn’t want to sink so low… And he didn’t want to misuse government resources. The aftermath of Sherrinford had been nasty enough… He had been yelled at and he wasn’t used to that!

And he wasn't used to feeling so… useless… So… stupid…

He had let this all happen. He had let them messing up Eurus' security. He had made it possible that she could do all this mayhem, kill all those innocent people. He would never forgive himself for that and if anything had happened to Sherlock that day, he wouldn’t have been able to live with it.

Thank God, nothing had happened, and Sherlock was safe. Of course Mycroft monitored every meeting with Eurus, no matter that he hated it to see Sherlock go there. Besides this, and yes, the usual casual observation, he left him alone. What good had it ever done to try and control him? He hadn't even been able to control his incarcerated sister… He hadn't kept him from shooting Magnussen. From fooling around with Irene Adler. He could as well just let it be…

He hadn't met his brother since he had listened to him and Eurus playing their violins this one time with their parents. He just couldn’t face him anymore. Not only because he had proven that he was everything but 'the smart one'. He had given too much away in this horrible situation when he had thought Sherlock would shoot him. He had let him see him without his shields. He didn’t know if Sherlock had seen the whole truth. Probably not. But he couldn’t meet him right now…

But he had texted Doctor Watson, back at his brother's side. Asked him if Sherlock was all right, asking for his discretion. And Sherlock was fine. And that was the only thing that mattered after all. But what was he doing in this house?! He had of course thought of texting John again to find out what Sherlock was up to but he had dismissed it. If Sherlock met these men so far away from Baker Street, he would obviously be doing that to hide it from John as well. And Mycroft knew John had been rather nasty towards Sherlock in the past. He didn’t want to risk giving Sherlock's secret away to him and cause another violent outburst. Sherlock was too fond of the man to just let him disappear… Even though Mycroft had imagined that vividly quite often…

There! The man came out again. And he looked very angry. Well, many people looked angry when they'd had a confrontation with Sherlock. But his brother wouldn’t order these men – and there had been only men! – into this house that wasn't his to yell at them! Why would they come?

Mycroft straightened his back. If Sherlock would follow the pattern of the past two days, he would be in this flat for another thirty minutes.

Only one way to find out what was going on in there!

*****

Mycroft was feeling a little stupid, standing in the stairway of a silent house. He had slipped into it when yet another man had entered. The door closed so slowly that it hadn't been a problem. He had creeped up the stairs behind him, and now he was waiting on the steps of the floor under the flat his brother was in with this man. He couldn’t hear anything but he would wait until the door would open up. Perhaps he would hear something that already told him what was going on and he could flee without Sherlock noticing him. If not… He wouldn’t go without knowing what his brother was scheming in there!

He didn’t have to wait long. The door opened up and he could hear two male voices, one of them Sherlock's and both sounded harsh and annoyed.

 _“I don't see why I can't even meet him! Who gives you the right to judge if I'm okay or not?!”_ The voice of the visitor sounded rather whiney.

 _“_ I _give me the right! It was lovely of you to come by.”_ Sherlock's voice was pure acid.

_“Hey, not so rude!”_

Mycroft took a deep breath and hurried up the stairs. If there was a fight, he would help his brother!

He stood dead when he saw the man who had unknowingly let him in and the man who had to be Sherlock, having grabbed the other one by the arm. He had blond hair and a beard! And he was wearing glasses! But his eyes gave him away. And those damn cheekbones… He looked like the cliché of a film detective using a silly disguise. And he stared at Mycroft as if he was seeing a ghost.

The other man – a redhead, about thirty, clean-shaven and with a ring in his left earlobe – turned to him as well. “Oh, is that him?! Hello, I'm…”

“…just leaving!” Sherlock unceremoniously shoved him to the stairs and the man almost fell over.

“All right! I'm going! You're totally mad!”

Sherlock nodded. “I know. Heard that before.”

Mycroft watched the man stumble down the stairs and then he turned to his brother, his thoughts running wild. “What is this about, Sherlock?”

“Oh, nothing. It was nice to see you but I'm sure you have to go back to the office.” Sherlock ripped off the false beard and the wig and stored the glasses in his shirt pocket.

“This was about _me_?” Mycroft asked in wonder. Because what else could it have meant, this _'oh, is that him?'_

Sherlock sighed. “Do come in then…”

Mycroft stepped into the flat. “Will there be more of them…?”

“No, it was the last one for today. Thank God.”

“This wasn’t about hiring a killer to get rid of me, was it?” Mycroft joked absently, realisation daunting on him. They were walking into a generous living room with pastel yellow walls, the biggest black couch Mycroft had ever seen, and a huge flat screen television.

Sherlock snorted. “Not really, no.” He let himself drop onto the couch and Mycroft followed his example.

“You were trying to…”

“…find a boyfriend for you, yes! It wasn’t _my_ idea! John and Mrs Hudson hatched this nonsense!”

Mycroft shook his head at these silly people's silly ideas. “But why?”

“Because they think you're lonely…”

Mycroft winced. He wasn’t _lonely_! He had told Sherlock before, hadn't he? He worked all day and when he was finished – and he was _never_ truly finished – he wanted his peace and quiet. And these men… None of them would have interested him. So Sherlock had figured that out. But he had done that extremely quickly… Almost as if… No, that couldn’t be, could it?

“This last guy… He was rather attractive,” he said with a deadpan expression.

Sherlock glared at him. “No, he wasn't!”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He's a lawyer!” Sherlock said accusingly. “Not by far your… your cup of tea!”

Mycroft couldn’t suppress a smile. “Speaking of which – you didn’t offer him any.” The table in front of them was empty.

“No. Didn’t make sense. They never stayed long enough to drink up…”

“Because you threw them out after a few minutes. Or sentences…”

“Did you spy on me?!”

“I did!”

“If you're so interested in what I'm doing, why have you disappeared?!”

Mycroft sighed. “I… wanted to set you free…”

“What? What am I, a wild animal you've nursed until it's able to survive by itself?”

“Yes! No. I mean… Survive…” Mycroft mumbled. “I almost caused your death. I thought it's better if I don't mess with your life any longer…” He realised he was sounding whiney and he hated it.

Sherlock shook his head impatiently. “You didn’t force me to go to Sherrinford! John and I insisted on you taking us there! Nothing of this was your fault!”

“But it was! I should have taken better care of her incarceration… She just… did what she wanted and I didn’t get it!”

“True, but what about it now? You're not completely perfect, what a shock! You don't have to be! We got out of there alive and yes, what she did was horrible, but it was entirely her choice. Not yours.”

Mycroft had slumped on the not overly comfortable couch. “That might be true or not. But I just didn’t want to bother you anymore.”

“ _Bother me_ … You're my brother and I thought, in Sherrinford… that…”

Mycroft paled and Sherlock eyed him curiously. “Don't deduce me!” He got up. “I have to go now. Please cancel this matchmaking-mayhem! I don't want a boyfriend!” He stalked towards the door.

“But perhaps you _need_ one.”

Mycroft turned around to him. Sherlock was still sitting on the sofa, staring at him. “No. All I need… Forget it.” Damn… He had been so close to finally give himself away… This situation had come so unexpected. And his shields didn’t work anymore like they'd used to. The main reason why he had stayed away from the only man who could see his true self, at least in this condition. For everybody else, he would still be an unsolvable puzzle.

“I couldn’t, you know,” Sherlock said, making him stop walking once more.

He closed his eyes for a second and then turned around again. His brother had stood up now as well. “Couldn’t what?”

“They were all so handsome and successful,” Sherlock said. “I bet you would have liked most of them.”

Mycroft could have disagreed but he didn’t want to interrupt him now. Not if he was about to… say what he'd wanted to hear for fifteen years… Not that he would. Would he?

“But no! They… weren't right! They didn’t deserve you! Not enough for you. Not smart enough. Not…” His cheeks were flushed now, he was staring at the floor, and he was very obviously struggling with what he didn’t want to say but felt he should say. Because this was the only chance for it – their barriers had crumbled, they were on neutral grounds, nobody else was there; and Mycroft felt as if nobody else even _existed_ , and somehow he was sure that Sherlock felt the same way.

“They were not _you_ ,” Mycroft quietly said, slowly walking back to him.

Sherlock looked up to him. “Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“That's why I'd have never been interested in any of them. Because they're not you,” Mycroft softly said. He couldn’t believe that they were here, in a stranger's flat, speaking out what he had hidden for so many years.

Sherlock swallowed hard. It couldn’t have come as surprise to him anymore but it was still something else to hear it being spoken out so clearly. “You… feel like I do?” he asked, the fingers of his right hand clamping and unclamping unconsciously.

There was no use in denying it anymore. “For ages. And in Sherrinford I thought I had shown too much of it. That was the main reason for leaving you alone. I thought you had to have become suspicious and I didn’t trust myself to be able to hide my feelings if I met you so soon again.”

“ _For ages_ …” Sherlock repeated in a tone as if he couldn’t believe it. “It wasn't like that for me. I just realised it when I was told to find a man for you. I remembered everything. About our past, long before I… became so difficult. You really _were_ always there for me. In Sherrinford I only finally realised how much I mean to you but I didn’t get how exactly you're feeling about me. And I had to see you rather objectively to write this ad with John and Mrs Hudson. And then all these men came and I imagined you with them. And I _hated_ it! At first I didn’t know why or I didn’t _want_ to know why but when I just saw you with this last guy, I just… _I_ want to be your man!” he finally blurted, and Mycroft discreetly pinched his thigh to make sure this was not just a weird dream.

“Oh, Sherlock…” His voice broke and then his brother was in his arms, and they sank onto the couch again while their lips were meeting for the first sweet kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut and fluff, basically! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have the final part of this little fic! I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you did enjoy reading! Thanks to everybody who did and especially to those who gave kudos and left comments! They are a wonderful reward! :-****

It was as if someone had set all his nerve-endings on fire. Sherlock knew his kisses were clumsy and too wet and probably disgusting, but he couldn’t do anything else but throwing himself into them with vigour, his hands pawing at every body part he could reach – including Mycroft's clothed, firm bottom. He was hard already and he could feel a matching reaction from his brother and he helplessly rutted against his thigh; his brain seemed to have flown off – and then Mycroft broke the kiss and gave him a wide-eyed look.

“What?!” Sherlock hissed. “Don't tell me you've changed your mind!”

“No! Just one moment! Damn, I should have thought of it before!” And Mycroft rummaged in his jacket pocket and pulled out a tiny gadget with three buttons. He switched it on and the buttons blinked hectically in a nasty blue colour until they all showed a green light.

“Oh, thank God!” Mycroft mumbled and turned to him again. “Where were we?”

Sherlock grinned. “A bug detector?”

“Yes! We have to be careful, you know.”

Of course Sherlock knew that. He hadn't had time to think through all the implications of an incestuous affair but one didn’t have to be a genius to know that this had to be handled extremely discreetly.

They plunged into the kiss again and then it was Sherlock who groaned loudly, suddenly remembering a few things a certain woman had said, and the tone in which she had said them, and the look on her face when she had said them…

“What's wrong?” Mycroft asked, pulling away, not mistaking his groan for an utterance of pleasure.

“Mrs Hudson! She knew it long before I got it!”

“What?! You said it was her and John Watson's idea to find a man for me!”

“Yes! Because she knew exactly what would happen! That it would just make me jealous and in the end realise that I wanted to have you!”

“Damn…”

Sherlock smiled, his pulse decreasing. “No, Mycroft. Not 'damn' at all. It means we have an ally.”

“Oh. Yes. But she hates me!”

“Nah. You've just always been getting on her nerves… And she actually spoke rather well of you when we made this list… Trust me: she will love it.”

“Well, you should know her well enough… What about John?”

“Oh, he's absolutely clueless. That's his natural state. He will never get it.”

Mycroft grinned, and then the kissing set in again, and with every minute, Sherlock got better at it. But that wasn't enough…

His hand slipped into Mycroft's trousers from behind. Mycroft broke the kiss once more.

“You're sure?”

“Oh, brother. I was slow but that's over. I want this!” His hand slipped under the last layer of clothing and his palm seemed to get burnt by the soft, smooth skin of his brother's arse.

Mycroft's eyelids fluttered hectically, and then he pulled away. “Well then. Shall we get naked?”

And Sherlock's tongue hit the floor.

*****

**_ Meanwhile In Baker Street _ **

“Didn’t think Sherlock would stay away so long today. He was so fed up with his task yesterday.” John sipped at his tea.

Mrs Hudson nodded and put sugar into her cup. “Perhaps he found a man for himself while he was at it…”

“No way!” John laughed. “He hated them all! None of them was good enough for his suddenly so beloved big brother! One could have thought he was jeal… Oh…” His cup dropped into the saucer with a rather nerve-wracking noise.

The old lady didn’t even flinch and patted his hand. “I'm sure Sherlock is doing fine right now.”

John was a little pale. “That's…”

“Very sweet.”

“Sweet.” John stared at her and then he shrugged. “Yeah. Somehow. Strange but… That's what they are, isn't it?”

She smiled. “One could say that. Too strange and too smart and too special for the rest of the world.”

John nodded. “True. So you think… Mycroft knew he was in there with these men?”

“Do you doubt that? He always knows what Sherlock is up to.”

“And today he's gone there and… confronted him…”

“Mm-mm. And now…”

“I need something stronger than tea!”

“Brandy, dear?”

“Brandy would be great!”

*****

Sherlock was looking at him like a boy in a sweet shop, Mycroft realised in awe, assuming that his expression was matching his brother's perfectly. But what _he_ was seeing was a well-toned, smooth body with broad shoulders, stone-hard abdominal muscles, impressive thighs, the most perfect arse under the sun, a proudly standing, thick cock and a hairless sack of plump balls, hands that were made for stroking and caressing and strangling people, and on top of all this his brother's unique but – in his eyes – achingly beautiful face with the most exquisite bone structure, lips to kiss forever and ever, a flawlessly-shaped nose, impossibly beautiful eyes and he wouldn’t even mention his full head of black curls. And Sherlock saw…

“You're breathtaking,” Sherlock breathed, his hands seemingly everywhere on Mycroft's body at once apart from, so far, his cock, the only body part he might surpass but at least matched his brother's perfection with.

“Yes. Breathtakingly hairy, apart from my head. My nose is…”

“Shut up! Don't you dare demean my prize!”

Mycroft smiled wryly. “You're sure I'm not the consolation prize? All these men you've just met…”

Sherlock glowered at him with genuine outrage. “…can kiss my arse! No! They can, in fact, not!”

“But I can?” It was hard to believe and getting naked had only made it harder…

“Do you want to?” Sherlock's mood had changed with in the blink of an eye. A true mercurial god…

“You must be joking…” Mycroft remembered the day he had realised that he saw more in his brother than his, well, brother. It had been at Sherlock's graduation ceremony of all times. Sitting next to their smiling parents, he had clapped for his grumpily looking brother, who had obviously wanted to be anywhere but on that podium. Mycroft had been so proud that his brilliant little brother had managed to pull this through after all his drug problems of the past two years and he had been the best of his year above all. And in this moment when Sherlock had looked down on him and their eyes had met, his heart had missed a beat, and apart from the pride of Sherlock's accomplishments he had felt a love that just was not the love of an older brother.

Long before that day he and Sherlock had become estranged. Mycroft had left home early to go to this university and right after graduating he had entered the government ranks and had climbed higher and higher on the ladder of power within record time. He had hardly seen his brother anymore; in fact he hadn't been much more than a sulky, lanky boy at the dinner table, ignoring him with the petulance of the adolescent. They had grown apart more and more and Mycroft had let it happen as he couldn’t deal anymore with the boy he had been so close with long ago.

But from this moment on Sherlock had been the protagonist of wild fantasies, wet dreams and desperate ruttings in his lonely bed. He had desperately tried to shut these misguided desires away but there had never been another man in his life. He had last touched another person when he'd been a teenager himself…

And now… the object of his deepest desires was here, willing to do anything he wanted with him. And somehow it didn’t feel right…

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“No?!” Sherlock's face fell. “How can you…”

“Not here. Not now. This flat…”

“…is totally safe!”

“Yes but… I want you in my own bed! Tonight! Please?” Of course the couch was comfortable. It _was_ safe. But he didn’t want to rush this and he wanted to give himself to Sherlock in his own house.

The smile was back on Sherlock's face. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. But…” he pointed at his still rock-hard dick and then at Mycroft's. “We can't just get dressed and leave with this!”

“All right… Let me take care of you.” He slid from the couch and positioned himself between Sherlock's spread legs, eye in eye with his dark-red cock. He enwrapped it and Sherlock moaned. “I've never done that before,” he informed his little brother. "Don't expect miracles."

“Oh, ask me! The only men I've ever seen naked were corpses!”

Mycroft chuckled. “That explains why you seem to find my flawed body attractive…” He winced when Sherlock pinched his left ear.

“Stop that! I love your body! And now put your silly mouth to better use!”

“If you ask so nicely…” And Mycroft bent forward and took his cock into his mouth.

*****

“Oh, there you are! Tea, dear?”

Sherlock managed a nod and crossed the room on shaky legs. And he was unable to erase the stupid grin from his face.

John looked up from his newspaper and blushed a deep red.

Sherlock sighed, frowning, and sat down next to him. “You both know it?”

John grinned. “Oh man… It's true then?”

Sherlock allowed his own grin to spread out on his face again. “Oh yes!”

“Tell us everything!” Mrs Hudson demanded, providing him with tea.

Sherlock shook his head. “Not much to tell. Will go over to him tonight. He was a bit… hesitant in this flat.”

“Yeah, what if Mr Palmer would have come to check on you!”

Sherlock shuddered. Mycroft had been right. It would have been too dangerous.

Mrs Hudson watched with a knowing look. “But you did _something_ with him…”

“How…? Never mind. Yes. He… did… something with… his mouth…”

John hid his face in his hands. “No details, please.” He didn’t sound offended though, which was a huge relief. After all John was his best friend. Again…

“Don't listen to John. He's so prude.”

“What?!”

Mrs Hudson patted the doctor's shoulder rather condescendingly. “Tell us!” she encouraged Sherlock.

“Not much to tell, really. It was over in approximately ten seconds…” And Sherlock had almost passed out at his fantastic orgasm, and the fact that Mycroft, red-faced and with watery eyes, had swallowed everything down with almost no gagging had made it even better… Mycroft had come only moments later, stroking himself to completion. Sherlock had been a little pissed off that he hadn't let _him_ doing it but then, it had only been the first time!

“Oh, he's good then!”

“My brother is good at everything!”

“I'm sure you will find out tonight.”

John just groaned and Sherlock and Mrs Hudson shared a huge smile.

Yes. Sherlock would definitely find out tonight…

*****

Sherlock had barely entered Mycroft's house when he was pulled into a hungry embrace and a feverish snogging that took his breath away. Somehow they managed to free Sherlock from his coat and tumble upstairs.

He just couldn't get enough of his brother. During the past hours – while lazily solving two easy cases that he hadn't even needed half of his brain for – he had analysed his feelings and realised that all his resentments he had developed for his older brother had in fact been born out of admiration and the thought of not being enough in his eyes. The druggie, the reckless rebel, always in search of trouble, too smart for his own good and too stupid to make real use of it. And Mycroft, the golden son, from the start the perfect pupil, the flawless student, the sought-after government official. Tall and handsome with his impressive nose and his endless legs and his pert little bum...

In the middle of a client telling her boring story, he had groaned loudly about his decades-long blindness. He had not only admired his handsome, sophisticated brother – deep inside, _very deep_ indeed, he had desired him. No wonder that he had been so nasty to him all this time; his subconscious had tried to protect him from his own feelings, which, so it had thought - the stupid thing - could never be reciprocated.

And Mycroft, smart as he was and - sadly enough - _blind_ as he was, had never given his true feelings away. So Sherlock had deceived himself and Mycroft had deceived _him_ and they had grown more and more apart. And if it hadn't been for Sherrinford, he would have probably never been able to see Mycroft's many positive sides. And they wouldn't be here like this then. So the probably blackest day in Mycroft's life and career that he felt guilty for so much had actually caused this explosion of feelings and closeness. Sherlock had always been a fan of irony...

In the bedroom, he more or less ripped Mycroft out of his layers of clothes. "You don't think you could have bothered to forego the waistcoat for a change?" he teased him.

Mycroft blushed a bit. "I could have, probably. Old habits don't disappear so soon, little brother." He didn't exactly mean wearing waistcoats, Sherlock figured.

"Listen to me, brother mine, now that you are really _mine_ , as I hope...?

Mycroft nodded vehemently. "All yours!"

"Great! Likewise! So listen: you're hot and I desire the hell out of you! I love your nose and these gorgeous eyes and all this fur on your body and damn, I love your big dick... You're bloody handsome and if you ever say something else again, you will get to know another side of me!"

Mycroft smiled and lifted his hand to brush over Sherlock's hair. "I will try my best, baby brother."

That was all Sherlock could demand. If Mycroft had – for whatever stupid reason! – always believed he wasn't attractive, he just couldn't change that with a snap of his fingers. But damn, Sherlock would prove him he was desirable! In fact Sherlock's mouth watered when he let his hands slide through the wiry chest hair, probing at two large pink nipples that grew adorably hard under his teasing fingertips.

"Sherlock..."

"Yes, brother?"

"Could you undress now, too, please?"

"Oh! Sorry! Just one second!" And he really didn't need much longer...

*****

If there was anything better than his brother's violinist's fingers wrapped around his cock, Mycroft had not experienced it. Sherlock was looking at his dark-red appendage in awe, squeezing it painfully right, and Mycroft couldn't suppress a loud moan, and both of them stared at the engorged head that huffed out a little drop of clear fluid.

"Damn," Sherlock mumbled and then he bent over and lapped it up.

Mycroft's hands were clamping into the duvet and he was desperately trying to not just explode into his brother's face. He didn't. But he did explode into Sherlock's probingly sucking mouth a moment later, making his brother cough and swallow heroically. "Sorry, sorry! It came too fast to warn you..."

Sherlock looked at him, licking his lips, and winked. "We both know I would have done it anyway. No way you do it and I don't."

Always the sibling rivalry! But in a very nice way, suddenly...

"Was it very awful?"

"Was it for you earlier?" Sherlock shot back, and he hurried to shake his head.

"Of course not! I... actually really liked the taste. And I loved having been the one to make you respond like this."

"You mean erupt like a come-fountain," Sherlock corrected him with a naughty grin.

"Sherlock! Well, actually..." But he had just done the same. "So?"

"I loved it! John always complains I don't eat enough! Not a problem anymore!"

“Yes, the faithful little doctor…”

After receiving a phone call from his brother, Mycroft had had a few hours to wrap his mind around the fact that not only Mrs Hudson but also John Watson knew about their secret already. And supported them... He remembered the times when John had been awfully condescending and cheeky to him, always a provocation on his lips. And now he had not only been the one to suggest finding a boyfriend for him but even accepted that in the end Sherlock had turned out to be said boyfriend. It was something to be in awe about...

"He'll never give us away, and neither will Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said calmly, deducing his thoughts easily.

"It's not something I'd have expected. But then – no matter how nasty he's been to you, he always was your faithful sidekick..."

"He's more than that, Mycroft. He's my best friend. He would kill for me."

"He almost got _you_ killed," Mycroft reminded him darkly of the Culverton-Smith episode after John had beaten him up.

Sherlock pulled him close. "That's past, brother mine. Just like our difficult relationship. A fresh start all over, don't you think?"

"Yes. If you forgave him for his violence, I guess I should not force him to work in a kindergarten..."

Sherlock laughed out loud." That's the worst punishment you could imagine for him?"

Of course it wasn't, and they both knew it. Mycroft could have John easily taken out for good. But he didn't want such a heavy note in their conversation. Especially not now... He wrapped his hand around Sherlock's hard penis. "The worst of all," he said, shuddering.

"Well, you will meet Rosie soon. Then we will see how you cope with little children."

Damn... Having John as an ally meant he had to play nice for the man's daughter? Well, he would do his best. In the end he had at least _some_ experience with toddlers. "I changed your nappies. How hard can it be to shake her little hand?" he teased Sherlock, while was shaking something very different.

Sherlock grimaced. "No nappy-jokes while you're stroking my cock!"

"Apologies, brother dear," Mycroft said as unapologetically as possible. "But you know what – why don't you lie on your stomach so I can have a proper look at your best side?"

"I shall lie down with my cock looking like this?! And what do you mean – best side?!"

"Your cute little bottom, Sherlock. I want to do with it what you said I could."

"Oh. Well... I guess I can manage..."

"Good!" Mycroft crooned, and a moment later, his eyes, hands and tongue were busy exploring what had been the centre of his fantasies for so many guilty years, and the texture of his soft skin and the mind-blowing taste along with Sherlock's moans made him get hard again and he gave middle-age an imaginary kick.

*****

It was more than any sane or insane consulting detective could bear. Having his sophisticated gentleman of a British-Government-brother lick and nibble at his virgin arsehole, making slurping noises and moaning at his taste was something he would have never thought he would experience. His cock was throbbing, his hole was fluttering and he just needed him inside. Knowing what Mycroft would say, he hissed, “Fuck me, brother!”

“What? No, we can't do that so…”

“…fast, I know. I insist! Shove your giant dick into my arse!” His voice sounded a little muffled by the pillow he was lying on.

“My God, Sherlock, how you sound…”

“This is sex, Mycroft, not a philosophical conversation!”

“No, it really isn't… Well, let's see how you can cope with a finger first, shall we?”

“Yes! Do it, put your fat finger into me!”

He heard his brother rummage in a drawer. “I shall let you know that my fingers are far from being fat!”

“Damn, that was a joke! But your cock is…”

“Oh yes,” Mycroft said, sounding a little proud.

Sherlock closed his eyes in pleasure when sticky and appealingly flavoured fluid was gently massaged into his rear end. “When did you do it the last time, Mycroft?” he asked, not knowing why. He knew his brother had made some experiences, he hated it and he couldn’t change anything about it.

“It was so long ago that I can't remember,” lied the man who remembered everything. “And whenever it was, with whomever it was, it didn't matter. You matter.”

Sherlock smiled. “Nicely said, brother mine.”

“Yes, that's what I am, Sherlock. Yours.”

And Sherlock's smile turned into a gasp when a long finger slipped inside him.

*****

This was it – the ultimate breach of one of the last true taboos. For so many years, Mycroft had felt disturbed and disgusted by himself to feel what he'd felt, to want what he'd wanted.

And now that it really happened, it simply felt right.

Sherlock's taste on his tongue, his brother's panting in his ear, the muscular, warm body pressed against his one, his cock engulfed by Sherlock's heat, all he felt, apart from the obvious arousal, was gratitude, along with a deep tenderness towards the man beneath him – his brilliant little brother, that he would have protected from any harm. And for so long he had thought his feelings for his brother meant harm for him as well. Now he knew he had been so stupid. This now felt as if it had just had to happen. Like destiny, as much as Mycroft usually despised such conceptions.

Still they would have never crossed that bridge without the exceptional situation of Sherrinford. In his distress and worry, not regarding himself but Sherlock of course, Mycroft had let down his guards, had shown a lot of his inner self, not with words but with his looks, his smile, and he would never forget the eye contact he and Sherlock had been holding all the time. They had been closer than ever before in a situation he had thought was one he wouldn’t survive.

Instead of shooting him, as a part of Mycroft thought he would have deserved for the mess he had let Eurus cause, Sherlock had finally overcome his resentments for him, had closed the inner distance and seen more of Mycroft's true self than he'd ever done since they'd grown up.

Mycroft had run away from this, had avoided his brother, in the stupid feeling he had shown too much, had appeared weak and useless. He would have never expected that this moment of all moments had made his brother fall in love with him without realising it at once, and perhaps these feelings had long been buried in Sherlock's heart before.

His mouth was next to Sherlock's cheek, and he kissed him while he was slowly moving in him. He had taken his time with preparing him and had sunk into him inch by inch, as slowly as he could and now he was buried in him balls deep. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

“Yes. This feels… so odd but I… love it…”

“I love you, little brother,” Mycroft said, the never-used words coming over his lips with much more ease than he had expected.

Their eyes were locked, and he could see the words before he heard them. “I love you, too, big brother. This is… all I never knew I wanted so much.”

Mycroft smiled. “Well said.”

The world would judge them - well, apart from John Watson and Mrs Hudson obviously. The world would think this was wrong and disgusting and condemnable. But he knew it was simply not. Sherlock's passion for him had made him shake off the self-conscious feelings about his many flaws. They were like the only two matching pieces of a highly unusual puzzle, not only too smart and too unique for the average people and even people who were professors or scientists of the highest order. It sounded soppy and silly but he felt as if his little brother had only been born to be the man to love him, to match his eccentricities and his unusual ways of thinking and feeling. Even their bodies seemed to be meant to complete each other - the perfect height difference, the discrepancies of smoothness and hirsuteness, and their sexual union felt as if was the most natural thing in the world.

They moved in one rhythm, none of them uttering loud noises; they were panting in unison, breathing like one organism, coming closer and closer to the edge at the same pace.

A slight change of angle, and Sherlock's entire body vibrated, his muscles clamping around Mycroft's penis deliciously painfully, and just moments later they both reached their consummation, Sherlock coming into the sheets, Mycroft spilling deep in his brother's body.

Still buried in him, he carefully rolled to his side, pulling Sherlock with him, embracing him from behind. “I love you,” he said again, and it felt as if he'd said it a thousand times, and he would.

“Love you more.”

“Nah.” Mycroft kissed his ear. “Big brothers always love more.”

“Big brothers just have a big mouth.”

“And a big dick.”

“Thank God for that!”

Mycroft smiled, rubbing his nose at the soft spot behind Sherlock's ear as his softening cock slipped out of his brother's arse. “My perfect little brother. Only _he_ could choose the perfect boyfriend for me – himself.”

“This is going to be forever, right?”

“Oh, Sherlock. As if I'd ever let you go again.”

“You must now though. I have to pee.”

“Language!”

The Holmes brothers chuckled and kissed and Mycroft watched Sherlock leave the bed, and before he reached the door, Sherlock looked over his shoulder through his long, black lashes and wiggled his extraordinary bottom, and Mycroft laughed and lay back into the pillows, waiting for his wonderful little brother to come back to him.

The End


End file.
